nesting tender_square i want this house to feel like home. my home. my neighbours visited and said they liked my taste: most everything is a hand-me-down from family, or came second-hand from somewhere. the wicker bucket chairs with purple cushions are from my parents; the wooden ironing board i use as console table behind the couch used to be my grandmother's; the chest-as-coffee-table was bought for twenty bucks from a friend who was letting something go that once belonged to his ex-wife. those same neighbours fixed my gas fireplace just because, and the flames make the room even cozier. i unconsciously decided to make this my one finished space in the weeks ahead. i began searching for thifted funky lamps and oversized pillows with fervor, but couldn't find what i was looking for. i opted for new pieces, treating myself on a budget. the critic inside momentarily piped up for being frivolous and superficial. it's more than that, though. there's a need for a space that brings comfort, a soft place to land after the hardship that has passed and the changes that lie ahead. i see a gallery wall of my mixed prints melding with the blues and silvers and soft pinks, the stone and wood and metal. i see my skinny black bookshelves holding novels and the aztec and egyptian curio that used to grace my parent's living spaces. i see the vinyl and the record player i inherited from my father, the cd's i spent years collecting, the rattan lounge chair i bought at a church sale with friends last spring. i see the oversized rope basket that's been sitting in the basement finding new life embracing more soft throws and blankets. i can't wait for you to see it, too. 230101 what's it to you? who go blather from